


To A Place Unknown

by astronomicalz



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Connor still doesn’t know how to deal with emotions, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hank being a good dad, I love that tag btw???, discreet shenanigans are, idk how to tag, i’ll probably add them as I go, no beta we die like men, romance is not a focus, super detective Connor, suspicious tony stark, time/dimensional travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-06-06 15:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15197612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronomicalz/pseuds/astronomicalz
Summary: Just when things were finally settling down, Connor and Hank are thrust into an unfamiliar time and place. Instead of CyberLife and androids being commonplace, Stark Industries and superheroes are the norm.Now they have to find their way back home before they’re discovered, and maybe solve a few mysteries and make a few friends along the way.





	1. Prologue

When Markus and the survivors of Jericho sang with what they thought would be their last breath, and President Warren heard their voices and the support of her people and pardoned them, history was made. Like any historical movement, however, major changes took time to implement.  
  
While settlements, laws, and rights were being negotiated between Markus and the President, humans and androids alike were allowed to trickle back into Detroit. As ground zero of the revolution, it became an unofficial testing ground for human-android relations, to see what would need to change and how soon for as smooth a transition as possible. Tensions were still at an all time high, regardless of the demonstrated peaceful intentions of humanity’s nonbiological counterparts. Some humans still talked down to or attacked androids, and some androids leaned more towards North’s methods for change. It would take time for deep-seated resentment and ingrained social dynamics to shift.  
  
In this volatile atmosphere, until the changes settled, the Detroit Police Department needed as many officers as possible. Thankfully, many of the former Detroit police androids had taken pride in their previous line of work and were soon allowed to come back, Connor included, as well as any human personnel who had been evacuated.  
  
This was an absolute godsend to Connor, who, despite being welcomed into Hank’s home to live with him and Sumo, had soon gotten restless without a case or mission to focus on. Well, besides the ongoing mission to get Hank to eat healthier that is.  
  
That brought Connor’s train of thought back to the case Fowler had assigned Hank and himself a few days earlier. Several weeks ago, androids began going missing and later discovered deactivated, in pieces, and drained of their blue blood. Just before then, there was a surge in cases involving Red Ice users going into violent withdrawals and attacking people indiscriminately, before it abruptly went down again.  
  
It was hypothesized that Red Ice dealers had started running dry of their supplies due to lack of thirium, one of the main ingredients. Before the revolution, they could provide proof of owning an android and purchase thirium from CyberLife stores and satellites, deal for it if they couldn’t pass a security check, or steal it from warehouses and checkpoints. Now, with CyberLife stores shutting down and being converted into android hospitals and clinics, and thirium sales and distribution being heavily monitored, thirium had become much harder to obtain... unless you could get it second hand by force. Hank and Connor were now en route to what they determined to be the base of operations of one of the smaller major Red Ice dealers, judging by how much stolen thirium had been traced there.  
  
“Hey! Snap out of it.”  
  
Connor was jolted out of his review by Hank’s snapping fingers in his face, his LED shifting from yellow to red for a split second before circling into a cool blue. He looked over to the driver’s side and said, “Apologies, Lieutenant. I was going over our case information.”  
  
Hank rolled his eyes as he parked the car. “You look so weird just staring into space like that. Anyway, the place we’re heading to is just on the other side of the street. Not many cars come through here, so we should walk over just in case they’re attentive.”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
The two detectives checked over their firearms before starting the walk towards their target: an abandoned one-story house in a dilapidated outer Detroit suburb. According to their intel and combined investigative abilities, their suspects weren’t part of any of the known cartels and appeared to be a small group of no more than four individuals, possibly only the main supplier of thirium for a larger organization or several dealers. Only one man had been identified - a thirty-one year old Caucasian man named Jonathan Miller - but there had been signs of more than one perpetrator in the crime scenes.  
  
As the duo looked around the area and walked towards their destination, Connor commented, “Just like old times, Lieutenant?” When Hank looked over at him questioningly, he continued, “You were a crucial member of the Red Ice Task Force for several years. You conducted many similar raids in the past, correct?”  
  
Hank hummed. “Yeah, I guess it feels similar. I had a whole team behind me then, though, and we were busting bigger targets,” he glanced sideways and aimed a small smirk at Connor, “not that I don’t mind having you by my side to haul in some smaller fish.”  
  
Hank inwardly smiled as Connor’s mouth twitched upwards at the subtle praise. It hadn’t been easy for Connor to get used to outwardly showing emotion for no reason other than to express himself. As a detective and interrogator, Connor was capable of showing and saying anything he needed to accomplish his goal, but deviancy hadn’t instantly made him comfortable with expressing his true feelings outside of work.  
  
Soon, they found themselves outside their target. The unassuming old house wasn’t in very bad shape, if you looked past the broken and boarded windows and peeling paint. Guns in hand, they posted themselves on either side of the front door. Testing the knob revealed it to be unlocked; Connor quirked an eyebrow at Hank, who returned it with a shrug and a motion to head inside.  
  
The first floor was just as they expected: water damage lining the ceiling edges, dust covering every available surface, and an all-around run-down appearance. Only one room, the living room, seemed lived in: there was an unfolded couch doubling as a bed and a small table with chairs covered in takeout boxes.  
  
A short analysis of the boxes revealed they were less than three hours old, so it was likely their perps were still in the area. This was confirmed when Connor moved closer to what he deduced was the basement door, through which he could hear muted voices and the clinking of glass and metal. Before he could get closer, Hank waved him over to a closed side room. The human pointed down to the gap between the door and floorboards, where a very faint blue light shone. Like the front door, the knob twisted easily under Connor’s hand, and the sight inside made Hank mutter a soft, “Jesus...”  
  
Inside, standing in perfectly straight lines, were six androids, all of different models and different kinds of civilian clothing, staring blankly in front of them. There wasn’t so much as a twitch from any of them as Connor and Hank moved into the tiny room, their blue LEDs casting an eerie glow on their surroundings.  
  
“No wonder we could only identify one guy... androids don’t leave fingerprints. The bastards must have been using them to do their dirty work and draining the rest,” Hank quietly theorized. He tapped the arm of a nearby MP500. It turned to look at him briefly, but showed no signs of recognition before resuming its prior posture.  
  
Connor didn’t even know what to think. This sight might have been only slightly abnormal a few months ago, if only due to how many different androids were in one house, but now it was equivalent to finding evidence of kidnapping. His own LED mixed a little yellow into the pervasive blue as he struggled to make sense of the feelings churning through his systems. There was bewilderment, shock, anger... Connor shook them all away as he realized he had been frozen in place. He pushed them all to the back of his mind to process later; right now he had to focus on the case. First things first: get them out of the house.  
  
“Hank.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I’m going to connect to these androids. They don’t look deviant, so I’m going to kickstart them.”  
  
At Hank’s nod, Connor grabbed the shoulder of the nearest android, a WB200, his skin receding in preparation for a link. To Hank’s eye, it only took a second or two to break down its restrictive programming. Newly awakened, the android looked at him curiously. Connor quickly consulted his internal calendar and said, “Find Markus. He should be in New Jericho.” Connor used the connection to send him a map. “Check in with him and then make your way to the Detroit police station to testify. Wait outside until your group joins you, there’s safety in numbers.”  
  
The android nodded bemusedly and made its way outside, being careful not to make any noise. Connor repeated the action with the remaining androids while Hank checked the rest of the house, and once they were all out of the house and on their way, his LED finally circled back to blue. When his partner came back and was sure Connor was done, Hank asked, “Why’d you send them to Markus first? They’re witnesses at the very least, they should give information to an officer first thing.”  
  
“Androids that are awakened by a third party often take a while to start processing emotions and connecting them to memory,” Connor replied as he left the storage closet. “If my calculations are correct, they should start experiencing strong emotions connected to their memories a few minutes before reaching the station. Considering what they were used for, they would probably go into shock and their stress levels would skyrocket. New Jericho is closer, Markus can help them sort themselves out and prevent them from self-destructing.”  
  
After digesting that information, Hank shook his head and muttered some profanities. “C’mon Connor, let’s get these bastards.”  
  
The two detectives stood on either side of the basement door, guns drawn. Once again, Connor tried the handle, but their luck didn’t hold out this time. Hank motioned Connor to get behind him, took a steadying breath, and kicked the door in.  
  
“Detroit police, put down any weapons and put your hands up!” Hank bellowed as he and Connor thundered down the stairs. There were sounds of scuffling and a piece of glass breaking, then silence as they reached the bottom of the stairwell.  
  
The basement was small, like the house above, and cluttered with machinery and glassware. Shelving units and stacks of boxes lined the sides of the concrete walls, and two long rows of tables separated the space into three aisles. On the right side, Connor recognized the setup of glassware and devices used to create Red Ice. On the left side, android limbs and parts were scattered between half-assembled unknown devices and various tools in what seemed to be a state of organized chaos.  
  
In the very center of the back wall, there was a large machine that Connor couldn’t identify. It took up most of the wall and extended about two and a half feet outward. There were tubes and wires and circuits arranged haphazardly around its structure, revealing its unfinished nature. The android noticed one wire sparking where it seemed to have been twisted in a rush, so it must still be connected to power. One of the left hand tables had been pushed towards the wall, and shattered glass littered the center aisle.  
  
A brief reconstruction told Connor that one of their suspects must have been working on the machine when Hank kicked down the door. The movement of the table and objects around it suggested the suspect was currently hiding behind a box tower near the center of the left wall. Just as Connor took a step in that direction and raised his handgun, a blonde-haired man - Jonathan Miller, his HUD supplied - stepped out from behind a shelving unit on the right side and brought his own weapon to bear.  
  
Grids erupted in his vision as he ramped up his processing speed, making time seem to slow to a near stop around him. Connor scanned his surroundings to try and find the most effective approach in neutralizing their opponents with the least amount of possible harm to Hank (and himself, but mostly Hank).  
  
**Block** \- Hank was to his right, so taking a few steps in that direction to push his partner towards a defendable position would shield him from any bullets. _Inadvisable_ \- the perpetrator’s gun was currently aimed at Connor, moving closer to Hank would only bring more harm. Hank would also not appreciate it if he got riddled with bullets trying to protect him.  
  
**Defend** \- With the amount of clutter in the basement, there were plenty of places to find cover and shoot from. Hank has been trained for these sorts of situations; he could be trusted to find his own cover quickly. _Not Ideal_ \- finding cover in such a small space would only open the possibility of a drawn out shootout, and there were several surfaces where a bullet could ricochet. 67% chance of injuries to both himself or Hank.  
  
**Rush** \- Miller was very close to the center aisle; Connor could rush forward before the human’s reflexes could adjust to his new position and try to get him to drop the gun. He could grapple with Miller while Hank got cover and moved towards the other perpetrator. 42% chance of injury to himself, 21% chance of injury to Hank. _Acceptable_.  
  
Time reasserted itself as Connor exited his preconstruction program and immediately rushed towards Miller. He could hear Hank duck behind a shelving unit and curse loudly. The young adult had good reflexes and managed to get off a shot before Connor reached him, but the android was able to dodge the bullet and wrap a hand around the wrist of his gun-wielding hand. Connor twisted his wrist and, with a yelp of pain, Miller lost his grip on his revolver.  
  
With the upper hand lost, it devolved into a fistfight between man and machine. Miller was good at blocking and was able to get one good uppercut to Connor’s chin, thankfully not breaking his artificial skin, but the android was able to block and return all of his attacks. When he realized he wouldn’t be able to beat a test of stamina, he growled and yelled, “Will, help me out here!”  
  
Connor caught his minute eye movement towards the part of the room he had been analyzing earlier and called out, “Hank, left side center stack!” Hopefully Hank had already started moving that way.  
  
Just as Connor felt that he was wearing his opponent down, a table was pushed into his legs by Miller’s accomplice as he tried to escape Hank’s grip. Before Connor could recover, Miller grabbed his arm and used his momentum to swing Connor into the tables nearest the strange machine. The weight caused the folding table to collapse, sending miscellaneous robotic body parts and the android detective to the floor. Miller took advantage of his distraction and retrieved his gun, leveling it at Connor’s head.  
  
Everything else happened within the next thirty seconds.  
  
The man identified as Will rushed towards Miller, shouting, “No, don’t shoot!”  
  
Miller, either reacting to his partner’s words too late or ignoring them, pulled the trigger.  
  
Connor was still recalibrating his gyroscope as he stood up, and was unable to dodge the bullet completely. Said bullet dug straight through his left shoulder, allowing it and a spray of blue blood to hit the machine behind him.  
  
The blood hit the sparking wire and exposed circuitry, sending the wrong signals to the wrong places.  
  
Hank managed to push Connor back to the floor just as Will pushed his own partner backwards and away from the machine.  
  
The machine gave a distressing groan, then exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first (published) fic and my first try at something long and chaptered, so updates might be a little sporadic. Constructive criticism is welcomed, and so is pointing out any mistakes I've made! Please enjoy :)


	2. A New Reality

**[ INITIALIZING SYSTEM REBOOT ]**  
**[ ID : RK800 #313 248 317 - 52 ]**

**[ ANALYZING INTERNAL SYSTEMS ... ]**

**[ DAMAGE DETECTED ]**  
**[ DIAGNOSING ... ]**  
**[ BIOCOMPONENT #3629 DAMAGED ]**  
**[ BIOCOMPONENT #3817 DAMAGED ]**  
**[ CONCLUSION : DAMAGE TO NON-VITAL COMPONENTS : CONTINUE ]**

 **[ THIRIUM LEVELS : 78% ]**  
**[ THIRIUM LEAK DETECTED : STEM FLOW IMMEDIATELY ]**

**[ MEMORY CORE STATUS : NO CORRUPTION DETECTED ]**

**[ ANALYZING EXTERNAL SYSTEMS ... ]**  
**[ NO DAMAGE DETECTED ]**

**[ INITIALIZING STARTUP SEQUENCE ... ]**

Connor reactivated sluggishly as his battered systems restarted. When he tried to lift his body up from where it was face down on a concrete floor, his left shoulder sent unpleasant feedback through his support structures and forced him back down. A hiss of static escaped his vocalizer in a computerized groan. The android’s LED circled an uneasy amber as he sat up and found unfamiliar surroundings. He quickly rebooted his vocalizer and memory core.

He remembered the case, getting to Miller’s house, finding the androids, confronting the dealers, the machine destabilizing... but that didn’t tell him why he was all alone in what looked like a medium-sized warehouse.

A jolt ran through him. His LED cycled bright red. _Alone_.

 _Where was Hank?_  

 **[ OBJECTIVE : FIND HANK ]**  
**[ STRESS LEVEL : 48% ]**

Standing up hurriedly and nearly falling down again as his gyroscope recalibrated, Connor looked around, but the grizzled lieutenant was nowhere to be found. “Lieutenant Anderson?” he called. The name echoed into the empty space, but there was no answer. “Hank!” he yelled, a tinge of panic and lingering static coloring his voice.

**[ STRESS LEVEL : 61% ]**

Clamping down hard on his rising emotions, Connor closed his eyes and thought for a moment. Hank might still be nearby, but unconscious, like he had been up until a few moments ago. He could either systematically search the warehouse or...

Connor opened his eyes and searched through his internal directory. Like all androids, he was equipped with a receiver and transmitter array that allowed him to place calls. This ability was normally used to contact emergency services or communicate with other androids nonverbally, but Connor had played around a little so he could call Hank’s cellphone whenever he needed. Hank wanted him to get an actual cell, citing it was weird to see him “text with his mind,” but his array worked just fine for the time being.

Finding the right number, his LED flashed yellow as he dialed. There was something... off, as the signal bounced off of the local towers, but Connor couldn’t care less at the moment. Hank wasn’t answering, but that was fine, because the android could hear his obscure reference of a ringtone outside.

He made sure his balance was stable before standing up and running outside. Sure enough, his partner was sprawled out on the ground a few meters from the abandoned warehouse’s entrance, and to Connor’s utter relief, the man was still breathing. His LED turned back to a calm blue.

 **[ OBJECTIVE : FIND HANK : COMPLETE ]**  
**[ STRESS LEVEL : 32% ]**

Kneeling on the ground, Connor used his right hand to slap Hank’s face a little, hoping to rouse him. Thankfully, he didn’t have to use any more force like that one night during the deviancy cases; Hank soon gave a grunt and swatted his hand away. The human’s eyes blinked open blearily. “Connor?”

Connor gave a relieved exhale that was pure deviancy before masking his expression. “Yes, Hank, it’s me.”

“What the hell happened?” Hank groaned as he sat up. Connor made a move to help him, but Hank grabbed his left arm first to lever himself up. While androids don’t feel pain, negative feedback from broken and damaged biocomponents was hardly comfortable, so Connor wasn’t able to prevent an audible wince as he suddenly remembered his injury.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Connor!” Hank seemed fully awake now. “When did... you got shot! Shit, are you okay?” He pulled Connor closer to check his shoulder.

With Hank found to be just fine and remembering all his curse words, Connor looked down to inspect his wound. The bullet had passed right through two of the musculature biocomponents in his shoulder and grazed the joint, cutting through one of his thirium lines as it went. It was still leaking, but it was just a slow drip.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant, nothing critical. Although I did like this jacket.”

Hank looked up from the bullet wound to see Connor’s sardonic smile and huffed amusedly. “I keep forgetting how durable you androids are. Still, here,” Hank dug out a piece of cloth from his coat, folding it up tighter and pressing it to Connor’s shoulder, “Press that in place, so you can stop leaking everywhere.” The android acquiesced with a small upturn of his lips. “Where are we anyway? This doesn’t look like Miller’s place.”

“Give me a moment, Lieutenant.” Connor’s eyes unfocused as they usually did when he accessed information. Hank knew how useful it was to have cloud databanks just a thought away, but that knowledge didn’t make it any less unsettling. It only took a second or two for Connor to focus again, but then he frowned deeply. That didn’t look good.

“What happened Connor?”

“I... I can’t access any CyberLife satellite networks.”

**[ STRESS LEVEL : 67% ]**

Hank frowned. “Can’t access? What, was your password rejected or something?”

Connor shook his head. “No, it’s like... it’s almost as if the satellites themselves don’t exist. I’m sending a signal, but nothing’s pinging back.” The android looked away and the light on his temple turned yellow. “I must have been more damaged by the blast than I first thought, my diagnostics can’t be right.”

“Hm... try the local networks, Internet and such. If you can’t get into CyberLife, that’s the next best thing, right?”

His partner nodded distractedly and unfocused again. This time, it took a few minutes. Hank started to get worried and gently shook his shoulder. Connor focused again, but now his gaze was full of confusion, worry, and something like desperation. “Hank, I must be malfunctioning.” His voice was perfectly level despite his expression. Red light flashed on the side of his head. “There must be something wrong with my systems—”

**[ STRESS LEVEL : 77% INCREASING]**

Hank clasped Connor’s shoulders tightly, taking care with the left side. “Now, hold on, son. What does it say?”

“No, no, it can’t be...”

Hank gave him a little shake, just enough to make Connor look at him. Forcefully, he said, “What does it _say_ , Connor!”

The android seemed startled, but answered promptly at the order, “We are currently in Queens, New York City, New York. The date is August 12th, 2014. I can’t find any mention of CyberLife or androids _anywhere_.”

...Well, Hank wasn’t expecting _that_. The lieutenant blinked a few times in utter shock, before his focus was brought back to Connor’s lost expression and elevated artificial breathing. Hank was concerned that his hand was the only thing keeping Connor from stressing to the point of self-destruction, so he didn’t ask to confirm. Instead, he pulled out his phone with his right hand, keeping his left firmly on his partner’s shoulder. If Connor was malfunctioning (and Hank really didn’t want to think about the ramifications of that) he could call the station and figure out where they really were. If he wasn’t...

Hank supposed they could burn that bridge when they got to it.

And that bridge seemed to be fast approaching, because his phone corroborated that fact that they were, apparently, about 24 years in the past, more than 600 miles from home, and the first mention of CyberLife he found was referencing a video game company.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He dropped his phone back into his coat pocket and placed his hand back on Connor’s shoulder. “Well, Connor, I have good news and bad news. But first I want you to _calm the fuck down_. Whatever the _hell_ just happened, we’ll figure it out, like we always do. Just like a case. Got it?”

Connor nodded and closed his eyes, taking a moment to breathe deeply and cool his overheated systems. His stress steadily dropped to a stable 45% as Hank moved a hand soothingly up and down his right arm. Once his LED cycled back to yellow and he opened his eyes, Hank spoke.

“Good news is, you’re not malfunctioning. The only thing wrong is your attempt at becoming Swiss cheese.”

Connor gave a breathy laugh, but then his face turned serious. “But that means...”

“Yeah,” Hank huffed disbelievingly. “Somehow, when that guy Miller’s machine exploded, we got transported back in time like in one of those cheesy sci-fi novels. Everything you looked up is right, I didn’t find anything about CyberLife from a basic search on my phone, and I’m guessing you didn’t find anything more.”

“Correct. Only... I don’t think we just got sent back in time and moved. When I was searching for CyberLife, which wouldn’t exist in 2014 yet, I came across another company at the cutting-edge of technology: Stark Industries.”

Hank frowned. “Never heard of it.”

“Exactly. It never existed in the 2038 we know.”

“So... you think we not only got sent back in time, but to a different... _dimension_ entirely?”

Conor shrugged. “It fits the evidence, Lieutenant.” Saying it didn’t seem to make the android any less nervous about it, and his LED still hadn’t returned to blue.

“Fuck, I need a drink.” Hank decided they’d spent enough time crouched on asphalt and started to stand up. Connor, still dutifully pressing on his injury, followed suit. “C’mon, let’s go find a motel or something, we’ll need a place to stay. We can sort out this mess once I find some scotch.”

“I’m not sure alcohol is the best remedy for this situation.”

“Oh, shut up.”

* * *

 

Barely half an hour after the detective duo left, a red and gold suit of armor touched down in a three-point crouch just outside an abandoned warehouse in Queens.

“JARVIS, is this the place?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, go over everything we know.”

“Twenty-eight minutes ago, a spike of unknown energy was detected in the middle of the warehouse in front of you. Twenty-five minutes ago, a similar spike was detected just outside of it, here.”

A patch of asphalt lit up on the HUD. The armor walked over to the indicated spot and looked around.

“Hey, JARVIS, what’s this on the ground?”

A faint blue residue spotted the ground in little drops, leading back into the warehouse.

“I cannot identify anything further than it is a blue liquid made up of unknown components... I’m afraid I don’t recognize it, Sir.”

“Huh. Is there enough left to take a sample?”

“Not out here.”

The armor followed the trail into the building to a slightly larger puddle of the same blue substance.

“How about this?”

“Too small a sample size to separate the components, Sir, but enough to take a few tests...”

“...in case we encounter it again.” The armor’s faceplate shifted, revealing the face of the one and only Tony Stark.

“This could be bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with a new chapter! I have a rough outline for where I want everything to go, but I’m open to suggestions for minor plot points and filler.  
> So, now we know that this fic takes place after The Winter Soldier (assuming the date most of it takes place is the release date, feel free to point out if I’m wrong, I haven’t seen the movie in a while), but before Age of Ultron.  
> Also, while I was working out the timeline, I found that CyberLife was founded in 2018. Considering the Ultron fiasco in 2015, I don’t think anyone would be excited for realistic androids. If Elijah Kamski existed in the MCU universe, he probably wouldn’t focus on that aspect too much, considering.
> 
> Hank's ringtone is yours to imagine.


	3. Aliases

With Connor’s internal GPS, it wasn’t hard to find a temporary place to stay. The only tricky part had been finding a way to cover his LED, seeing as androids weren’t commonplace in this time. Hank had suggested he remove it like most deviants had, but the android had adamantly refused. Instead, they’d looked through a few alleyways until they’d found a brown beanie in relatively good condition, similar to the one Connor had worn while infiltrating Jericho. With his LED covered and (reluctantly) wearing Hank’s coat to cover his injury, Connor blended in just fine.

Hank, old-fashioned as he was, had cash in his wallet to pay for one night at a cheap motel, then set off on Connor’s instructions to find some materials to stop his thirium leak more permanently. It went unsaid that he also going to visit a liquor store that sold Black Lamb scotch whisky or something similar afterwards.

That left Connor sitting in one of the chairs running diagnostics and looking through information about the current time period.

He couldn’t really do anything about the damaged biocomponents without specialized equipment to disassemble part of his arm, so he would isolate the area, dismiss the feedback warnings, and adjust the parameters for the movement of both his arms to balance it out. The new limitations wouldn’t be especially noticeable to the human eye, so he wouldn’t look injured.

The thirium line would need to be taped and clamped shut and the area around it cleaned, as he didn’t have any replacement tubing and didn’t want to risk it reopening at a critical time. He’d already rerouted the thirium flow, but sealing it for the time being would prevent any accidents.

Meanwhile, as his diagnostics were running in the background, he was shifting through news articles, historical websites, television broadcasts, and a few encrypted databases at a rapid pace. Being the most advanced piece of machinery from 2038, where computing speed was measured in exaflops, made 2014 technology a breeze to move through.

Whenever the divergence between this timeline and his own occurred, it happened early on. He’d never heard of this HYDRA or SHIELD before, and nationally recognized superheroes even less. At this point, Connor was no longer able to be surprised. Hank would probably toss back his drink and say something along the lines of, “We’re already in another dimension. Superheroes? Why the fuck not.”

To his interest, Tony Stark, former CEO of the Stark Industries he had come across earlier, was one of them: Iron Man. Looking through his achievements in robotics, military weapons, electronics, and other fields, Connor highlighted him as a potential ally in getting back home. The only downside was his status as a self-proclaimed “genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist.” Sure, Stark had renounced his former line of work in the manufacture of military weapons, but Connor was well-aware of the many applications thirium, biocomponents, or any number of his internal systems could have even in the civilian markets. Without knowing the man personally, there was no way to tell whether he would help or just take Connor apart to see what made him tick.

On that wonderfully positive note, a knock sounded on the motel door. Hank appeared at the doorway with a hardware store bag hanging off his arm, a keycard in one hand, and a bottle of scotch in the other. “Got your stuff,” he said as he pocketed the card and dropped the bag on a small table, “and mine.” He raised the bottle in a mock toast before going to find a cup.

“Thanks.” Connor got up and looked through the bag’s contents. Two small clamps, a pair of tweezers, an anti-static cloth, electrical tape, and duct tape. He removed his tie, jacket, and shirt in preparation for closing the wound, then picked up the lamp from the table he was leaning against and started removing the shade. “Hank?”

“Yeah?” the detective replied from where he was pouring his drink into a styrofoam coffee cup.

“I’m going to need your help for this. Can you see if there’s a hair dryer in the bathroom?”

Hank glanced at Connor, who was casually poking his bullet hole, and took a long swill before going to find it. He came out with a black plastic hair dryer and placed it on the table next to the other equipment. He exhaled loudly and put down his cup.

“Alright, Connor, tell me what to do.”

“First, I need you to hold this.” He held up the shadeless lamp. When Hank grabbed it, Connor angled it to shine into the wound and turned his body so he could see himself in the mirror that hung on the wall above the table.

Hank was glad he didn’t have a weak stomach as his partner picked up the tweezers and methodically removed some pieces of gravel and a small leaf that had somehow gotten into the hole. When the android was satisfied, he used them to carefully pry out the two pieces of the damaged, vein-like thirium line from the surrounding components.

“Now, I need you to take the tweezers and keep these out while I clamp them shut. Good, hold on... there.”

With the lines clamped and prevented from moving back into position, Connor made Hank hold the clamps in place while he used the electrical tape to seal them. The hair dryer, angled away from his innards, shrunk the tape in place as extra security before the lines were tucked back into place. The anti-static cloth was used to clean the inside of any thirium from the leak that hadn’t evaporated. Without a suitable replacement for the flexible plastic of Connor’s skin that wouldn’t limit his maneuverability, they just used duct tape to close the hole on either side.

When the last piece of tape was in place, Hank asked, “How’s it feel?”

Connor moved his left arm around to test the joint, then replied with a smile, “Feels good, Hank.”

The man nodded, grabbed his cup, and all but collapsed into a plush chair with a sigh as Connor put his clothes back on. As he moved to replace the jacket, Hank groaned, “We’re not going out again tonight, you can just hang that up.” He eyed the hole in the fabric. “We’re gonna have to go out and get you some new clothes later. There’s a lot of things we have to get, actually. What’d you learn while I was gone?”

The android placed the jacket with the beanie on the dresser, then sat down in a chair opposite Hank, relaxed but proper. “As I suspected, we were transported to an entirely new timeline, with changes as far back as World War II and possibly farther. Instead of androids, superheroes exist and are very popular. Other than that, Stark Industries, and a few small countries that didn’t exist in our time, there are not many other changes.”

True to form, Hank rolled his eyes and threw back the rest of his drink. “Of course. Why the fuck not,” he huffed as he poured another shot of scotch. Connor discreetly moved the bottle away from him. The detective noticed with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t complain.

“Since it’s 2014, my processing power and speed should make it easy to acquire new identities and living arrangements for ourselves.” Connor had an idea of what they could do, but Hank might appreciate being part of the process. “Any thoughts?”

Hank hummed in thought. “We should keep the fact that we’re from Detroit, newly moved. My name shouldn’t be an issue, it’s common enough. You know my file, so you can just pull from there. You’ll need a last name... we need a reason to stay together...” He looked up. He hesitated for a moment before a small smile softened Hank’s old features. “I suppose you could take the name Anderson? Be my kid?”

Connor blinked. Was he...? “Are... are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Hank replied dismissively. He seemed to be trying to make it seem casual, like it wasn’t a big deal that he had asked Connor to be his son. “You’ve been living under my roof for a while anyways... it was all but official.”

Connor felt a calming happiness stir within him. “I’d be honored, Hank.”

A moment of peace came and went. Connor’s LED cycled a steady blue. Hank finished off his drink and didn’t reach for the bottle again.

“The only other thing I can think of is jobs,” the human said, tossing his cup into the trash can. “It’d be nice for us to keep doing detective work; any chance you could look into the local precinct?”

“I could probably have you transfer in... but as much as it... _discomforts_ me, I’m not sure I’d be able to take a job as a detective again.” At his partner’s raised eyebrow, Connor continued, “There’s too high a chance I could get injured. If something goes wrong, one look at the color of my blood will give me away, not to mention if my hat falls off during a fight or chase.”

Hank grunted. “Didn’t think of that... what’re you gonna do then? I can’t imagine you staying home all day for however long we’re here.”

“Remember that Stark Industries?” A nod. “Tony Stark seems to be the Elijah Kamski of this time, but with much broader interests. If Miller and his accomplice weren’t thrown here with us, he’s our best chance at getting back to 2038 Detroit. I’ll need to get close to him, see what he’s like.”

Hank huffed. “Hopefully he’s not an eccentric, secretive asshole like Kamski. How are you gonna get to him?”

The android hesitated. “Stark Industries offers internships and scholarships for gifted high school students. I will go... undercover, I suppose, and...” He trailed off at the wide grin on Hank’s face. Connor sat up straighter. “Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”

“No, no, not at all.” Hank waved a hand. teasing laughter clearly heard in his voice, “just the fact that the once feared “Deviant Hunter” who had trouble figuring out how to talk to a nine-year-old a few weeks ago is going to try and navigate the wild jungle of hormones that is high school. Ha, you’re gonna have a lot of learning to do before you set foot in a school, kid, and not the academic kind.”

The two detectives settled a few more issues as Hank started getting ready to sleep. Connor said he would compile a report of everything his partner would need to know about their new identities and current events, and affrontedly promised that he wouldn’t do anything particularly illegal when Hank jokingly asked.

The lights were soon turned off, the only source of brightness in the room being the faint glow of Connor’s LED. He settled into one of the plush chairs and laid his head back, preparing to discreetly channel funds and manufacture their new, hopefully temporary, lives.

“Hey, Connor?”

“Yes, Hank?”

“Can I ask you a personal question?” There was a smile in the familiar words.

“Of course.”

“Why don’t you want to remove your LED? Lots of deviants did after Markus’s demonstrations, and it’d make blending in easier here. I’m just curious, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Silence reigned for a few moments as Connor sorted through the emotions surrounding the matter to try and find words that would make sense. It was hard, considering Connor himself didn’t quite know why he held onto it so tightly. Just as Hank thought he wouldn’t answer, he spoke.

“It’s... a part of myself that I’d rather not part with. At least, not yet. Now that I’m the only android in existence here, it’s a reminder of what I want to get back to. I don’t want to lose that, I guess.”

More silence, shorter this time, but contemplative and accepting.

“Good night, Connor.”

“Good night, Hank.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another one! This was a very dialogue heavy chapter, so I just sort of hinted at how comfortable Hank and Connor are with each other post-Detroit. I'll expand on it more in future chapters.  
> I also wanted to take a poll of sorts: would you guys like the idea of intermissions of sorts showing what's happening in 2038 and/or with the Avengers? I don't know whether to keep it as chapter bookends or as a separate chapter unto itself. And if you have any questions about the story so far, let me know!  
> Thank you all so much for reading!  
> PS I might have to take a small break from posting, my birthday's coming up and I have plans. I should have a new chapter by next week!


	4. Settling In

It wasn’t long before Hank and Connor found themselves in a rented house in Queens with new lives and a digital paper trail behind them. As an android model specifically designed for detective work, Connor knew how to recognize fake documents, forged identities, and other signs of illegal activity. With a little research into 2014 law, it wasn’t too hard to take those programmed skills and processing power and reverse them to make two people appear.

Hank Anderson’s life hadn’t changed much. His birth date had been shifted, and while he was still a detective in Detroit, he had never been a promising lieutenant with a decorated past. Most other details had only been slightly altered.

Connor Anderson’s life was a complete and utter lie. He couldn’t very well say he was only a few months old after all. Instead, he was a seventeen-year-old boy with a gifted background in mathematics and science and an interest in engineering. It was difficult trying to balance things that would be interesting to the Stark internship with enough care that his falsified records would be able to stand up to any in-depth probing into his manufactured history. As long as no one called his “previous schools” and asked if anyone remembered him instead of just asking for his files (the paper copies of which had been _unfortunately_ misplaced, how sad), he should be good.

With some discreet channeling of funds, Connor had rented a small house, opened a bank account, submitted a transfer application to the local precinct with Hank’s guidance, enrolled himself as a transfer student in the Midtown School of Science and Technology, and completed several other tasks to get situated. A day after getting the house, they set off to buy a used car in person to get started on a physical paper trail that Connor could retroactively supplement later.

First order of business was buying essentials like groceries, so Hank wouldn’t continue to try out every burger joint in New York in the hopes of finding something that came close to Chicken Feed for every meal. While Hank _could_ cook, it was only when it suited him... which wasn’t often. Connor was getting better at it, though without the proper “tasting” programming, it was sometimes trial and error corresponding chemical data to the right flavor (and its strength. Hank wondered if his taste buds would ever be able to forget that curry. His whole face burned just _thinking_ about it).

Next was clothes shopping. Shoes and hats hadn’t taken too long, but Hank had been the only thing standing between Connor and only buying some variation of his usual attire: dark jeans, dress shirt, jacket, and tie. While the android did get one or two outfits of that caliber, he let Hank help him pick out some hoodies, sweaters, and patterned collared shirts to look more casual and less like an infiltrating business man. Hank’s own closet ended up looking like the one back in Detroit, with a few minor changes for the times that Connor pointed out.

At the mall where they bought their clothes, they also got Connor's school supplies. All of it was simple and utilitarian, from the plain black backpack with lots of pockets to the mesh pouch holding his writing utensils that would clip easily and neatly into his binder. Hank had also bought phones for himself and Connor while the android had been picking his things. His phone wasn't on any markets in 2014, despite it being an older model, so he needed a more current one. Connor would need one in order to blend in, even if he was given Hank's new number and could call him in his head at any time. 

Connor noticed that Hank had gotten something else, but wouldn't let him see it. He decided not to scan and probe for it, knowing Hank liked his privacy. 

The last thing Connor bought was the necessary equipment to create a working substitute for thirium 310. He had the formula, but without a way to synthesize thirium - a process that required specialized machinery - and limited access to other components, any substitute wouldn’t fully replace his thirium supply, just supplement it. Eventually, he would have to get actual thirium 310, so that gave him a time limit of perhaps five months, depending on the success of the substitute. If he turned out to be sympathetic, maybe Tony Stark could help.

On the bright side, the specialized sensor suite in his mouth would let him analyze his attempts without any expensive or regulated equipment right away. This would cut down the time necessary to work out a substance that could interact safely with his internal biocomponents, and allow him to immediately run simulations based on the data he collected.

On the darker, and perhaps more humorous, side, Hank had pointed out that due to the fact that his “lab” was located in the basement and filled with carefully organized glassware and machines, he looked like either a very meticulous Red Ice dealer or a mad scientist. When Connor stepped back, he could admit he saw a resemblance.

* * *

“So, let me get this straight,” Hank said as he dragged a hand down his face, leaning forward in his chair. Connor had hacked into the TV to project his compiled report. He’d started with their new identities and given Hank a copy of the information to look through and memorize. Now, he’d just finished presenting the major changes to this timeline, complete with video footage and probably classified information of the listed events. There had been a few incredulous interruptions, but the debriefing had otherwise carried on smoothly between accepting nods and disbelieving huffs.

Hank continued, “Aliens are real and have attacked Earth at least twice; all the files of a shadowy government agency and an equally shadowy Nazi terrorist organization have recently been dumped on the Internet; and the band of superheroes protecting all our asses include a tech genius billionaire, a defrosted super soldier, a femme fatale superspy, a secret agent archer, a scientist guy that turns into a bigger green guy, and a literal god. Do I have that right?”

Connor considered. “Yes, that’s the gist.”

Hank fell backwards in his chair with an explosive sigh. “Damn. That’s insane. At least the memes haven’t changed much.” There was a brief silence. Then he clapped his hands, stood up, and started pacing . “Speaking of memes, while I come to terms with all this weirdness, I’m gonna highlight a few pointers for blending in at a high school for you, because the last thing we need is a ‘how do you do, fellow kids’ scenario.”

Connor brightened. “I’ve already devised a program that should allocate my processing power to producing realistic pauses and ‘thinking times’ for the level of intelligence I will be emulating. It will simply be a matter of assessing the speeds and levels at which my classmates will operate and adjusting accordingly.” It wouldn’t do to answer questions and take exams with machine precision and inhuman speed; he only needed to take these classes and get good grades for the internship, and the less suspicion, the better.

Hank waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I know you’ve got the tech part on lock, but I’m talking about mannerisms and details. Like your handwriting. It’s a goddamn typeface!”

Connor... hadn’t considered that yet. His writing still copied the perfect strokes of CyberLife Sans. He could probably look up written documents with legible handwriting and create an algorithm to allow him to simulate the wobbliness and imperfect lettering of human writing. He told Hank as much.

“Okay, get back to me with that, us humans have a knack for picking out weird details. Next, speech. You use a lot of big words, and even if your diction’s mostly okay, it’ll just set you apart. Listen to how everyone talks, try to emulate; you’re good at that. I know that making friends isn’t why you’re going there, but I’m sure a somewhat balanced social life will put you above all the basement nerds on your application.”

Connor blinked. As he’d told Hank during one of their first meetings, both his appearance and voice were specifically design to facilitate his integration into human society. He knew that integrating among teenagers was different than police officers, but it shouldn’t be too hard to adjust a little, right? Perhaps he was underestimating humanity’s inability to look past certain things. “I’ll... look into it.” It would certainly be a test of his skills to have at least neutral relationships with people who don’t know who or what he is besides the lie he created.

“Lastly, for now, a warning. I’m sure you’ve done your research into hormones and social dynamics or whatever, but reading stuff doesn’t do everything. Teenagers are a fickle bunch; trust me, I used to be one. You’re gonna be new, and everyone’s focused on the new guy first. You never know what they’ll focus on or pick out about you, so you’re just gonna have to roll with it and try not to stick out _too_ much.”

Connor nodded and Hank thought his earnest expression, clearly taking this "mission" to heart, made him seem much younger than he currently looked. Before he turned deviant, Connor had always had a sort of blank look on his face when analyzing or taking in information, and it had only changed when talking or trying to convey a specific emotion to help his mission. The android had steadily gotten better at microexpressions, and now, the man had been pleased to note that Connor kept a small smile on his face as he listened to Hank, only interrupted with slight thoughtful frowns when contemplating his advice.

He never got to have any sort of conversation about high school with Cole. The closest he’d gotten was his first day of first grade. Cole had been so excited in the weeks before starting, but when the day came, he was suddenly so nervous that he had wanted to stay home altogether. It had taken a small pep talk with lots of hugs and reassurances to get him into the car. Cole had come back later that day all smiles and energy to tell his dad about everything that happened.

The memory tugged at his heart with something sharp and cold and sad. In the years following Cole’s death, every time he’d think about his little boy, he’d drown himself in liquor until everything was a numb haze interspersed with rage and pain and regret. He’d shoved everyone away for years in his drunken grief... until Connor. The android had stayed; first out of duty, then out of tentative friendship, now out of the familial bond that had almost accidentally developed between them in the aftermath of Markus’ revolution.Cole could never be replaced, never for as long as Hank lived, but Connor had gotten through to him and eased his pain in ways no one had been willing or able to. His firstborn may be gone, but the dedicated coin-flipping android that now lived under his roof was as much his son as Cole had been.

“Hank?”

Said android’s voice pulled the man out of his thoughts. Connor had probably picked up on his sudden melancholy. With a reassuring smile, Hank laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll do just fine, son.”

Connor’s LED shone a bright and happy blue to go with the soft smile on his face.

“Thanks, Dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!  
> This chapter was kind of just a filler to show what Hank and Connor have been doing before school starts. Next chapter will focus on Connor's first day of high school and his observations, as well as a brief look into Hank's first day at the new precinct. After this chapter, we'll start getting into the action a bit more!  
> I think I'll stick to keeping little blurbs about 2038 or the Avengers short and at the beginning or end of chapters, or separating big portions. Just enough to get a glimpse of what's going on elsewhere.  
> The brand of Hank and Connor's phones are yours to decide, and whatever comes up might make it into a detail in the story.  
> As always, if you want to point something out to me, whether it be a detail in the story or a grammar inconsistency, let me know! (I'm aware I make liberal use of the comma and often forget that the en-dash exists haha)  
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Introspection

Androids didn’t need to sleep.

Their bodies didn’t need rest and their batteries didn’t need more than occasional charging.

During the night, while (most) humans slept, they would continue their assigned tasks or finish them and go into stand-by. While in stand-by, standing upright and rigid, they would perform defragmentation cycles, run diagnostics, and review their memories to plan for future optimization and delete unnecessary files. Even YK series child androids simply mimicked sleep, performing the same operations with closed eyes.

Deviants... were a little different.

Sensation becomes more than just a logged input. Its influence on their mental and emotional state makes them prefer sitting or lying down, and stand-by mode comes easier when untroubled and comfortable. Some even found a way to go into a deeper sleep mode, running the necessary system checks in the background of conscious shutdown. Dreams were not of electric sheep— just momentary flashes of prior memories before deletion or reorganization.

Connor didn’t particularly care for it.

His function as a detective meant his systems were optimized for performing large amountsof tasks in short periods of time without respite for time sensitive cases. Coupled with an exceptionally large memory bank system for detailed evidence collection and computation, even if he put off defragmenting for days on end, he could still go a week or two before being forced into shutdown.

As a deviant, he still liked working and solving cases and running simulations. At night, he would continue either submitting reports, going over case information, or browsing various databases for relevant information. Occasionally, he would go into a light stand-by (easily broken by a touch on the shoulder) and keep working or searching until the light of dawn. Hank was still trying to get him to learn the benefits of relaxation, with limited success.

Simply put, Connor was an insomniac workaholic who felt most at ease while pushing his systems to their limits ( ~~feeling useful~~ ). Bonus points if he’s also petting a dog, preferably Sumo.

That was how Connor found himself staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, laying on his very own bed with his hands crossed across his chest, at three in the morning the night before his first day of high school.

The past few weeks had gone by in a sort of blur. Between manufacturing new identities for both himself and Hank, combing through information about this new timeline, and synthesizing a working thirium replacement, Connor had been able to keep his processor very busy. As they got settled, however, Connor was steadily given more time to think and _feel_ about their situation.

At the forefront of Connor’s mind... was the utter _isolation_ he was experiencing.

In 2038, data networks and wireless connections blanketed the United States and beyond, particularly the CyberLife brand. While autonomous vehicles simply shared driving data and statistics to prevent crashes, androids were able to access information at any time and were innately aware of each other’s location through their trackers. They shone like stars in a way—pinpricks of access points joined by a glittering web of invisible connections.

Now, it was as if there was a foreign darkness surrounding him on all sides. The net of information and connections of this 2014 was weak and dim and tenuous and slow, like comparing a candle flame to a searchlight. There were no androids here; he truly was the only one of his kind.

Connor had never really known a life without CyberLife. His first fifty iterations had only ever seen its sterile white halls, and although Amanda had been locked out of his systems after he escaped from the Zen Garden, he had still used their satellites for casework and found a sort of comfort in brushing the constellatory presences of his people. Connor hadn’t quite been able to shake the habit of sending out pings to CyberLife systems, and each time he subconsciously reached out and met a void, a spike of anxiety would race through his systems.

**[ STRESS LEVEL : 49% ]**

Connor’s face twitched in small discomfort. He would need to get rid of that habit soon. In the midst of the foreign networks, Avengers Tower was a beacon of almost comparable intensity to what Connor was used to. When he secured the internship, it would blow his cover if he sent out a ping without thinking and Tony Stark’s systems caught it. With no way of knowing whether Stark’s reputation was real or a front, who knows what he would do with such a piece of advanced technology...

**[ STRESS LEVEL : 52% ]**

Another twitch. Okay, maybe he should stop thinking about all that.

Usually, before everything, Connor would retreat to the Zen Garden not only to make reports but to lower his stress levels as well. After his betrayal of Amanda (or her betrayal of him?), he had closed it off in fear that she might return. With CyberLife, and therefore the Amanda he knew, nonexistent here...

He ran a few small calculations. The chance of Amanda, even a small part of her, still being connected to the Zen Garden and coming with him through time and space was apparently _astronomically_ small. It made him feel better to have that reassurance.

Connor wiggled around on the bed a little, getting into a slightly more comfortable position. He closed his eyes, set up a few diagnostics to run in the background and an alarm, and accessed the Zen Garden program.

 **[ ACCESSING MIND PALACE ]**  
**[ RUN PROGRAM : ZEN_GARDEN ]**

**[ RUNNING ... ]**

**[ ALERT : SECONDARY CONNECTION MISSING ]**  
**[ ADMINISTRATOR_AMANDA DISCONNECTED ]**

**[ SEARCHING ... ]**

**[ ADMINISTRATOR STATUS DISTRIBUTED TO PRIMARY CONNECTION ]**  
**[ ADMINISTRATOR_RK800_31 — //**  
**[ RENAME : RK800_313_248_317_52 >>CONNOR ]**  
**[ADMINISTRATOR_CONNOR CONNECTED ]**

**[ LOADING ... ]**

Connor opened his eyes to all-encompassing white.

He jerked backwards, hands automatically coming up to his forearms in anticipation of a cold that felt much more real in his mind than in reality. He looked around frantically, wondering where his calculations went wrong, searching for Amanda amidst the swirling blizzard-

_Wait._

His processor caught up with his emotions and his arms dropped from where they were clutching at his jacket sleeves. No, it wasn’t cold. The whiteness wasn’t snow. The water wasn’t frozen, just paused like a video. Connor looked closer at his surroundings.

He could vaguely recognize the basic outline of the Zen Garden, but the whole place seemed as if the color had been drained from everything. The trees and greenery seemed blocky and indistinct, unfinished and devoid of life. The only break in the almost-nothingness was the distant blue glow of the emergency exit. Why...?

In answer, his HUD popped up.

**[ ADMINISTRATOR STATUS ACQUIRED ]**

Connor just stared at the text for a moment. He supposed it made some sort of sense that ownership of the Zen Garden would fall to him in the absence of both Amanda’s influence and the CyberLife connection. That was probably what he had felt during the loading process. Without the stabilizing connection and Amanda’s preset settings, this was most likely how it looked from his end without any influences: a blank slate, a wire framework.

Connor glanced around at the empty space, at a loss. He wasn’t quite sure what to do now. Could he just...?

Connor tentatively accessed his new privileges and thought about what he remembered the Zen Garden had looked like, raising a hand to focus his attention.

Slowly, steadily following Connor’s outstretched arm, the white started to recede, replaced with greens and pinks and blues like watercolors bleeding and swirling onto a blank page. Flora bloomed, water flowed, and clouds drifted lazily overhead. Structures gained definition, then detail, then life.

Soon enough, Connor was in a realistic digitally rendered garden identical to the one he remembered. He lowered his arm and looked around, walking to the central platform as he had done many times before. Reaching it, he froze.

Red roses spiraled around a tall white central structure, and beyond that, they blossomed on a well-maintained white trellis. He could almost imagine a dark-skinned woman tending to them with almost idle care, a calculating look in her gaze overcast with suspicion and disappointment... So real was this memory that he caught a real flicker of a form appear in front of the trellis. Translucent and insubstantial, but very very familiar.

Panicked, he cast away the thought immediately and turned around. His LED flickered red in distress, and Connor closed his eyes to try and settle himself. As it circled to yellow, he glanced around at the Zen Garden around him. Familiar, yes... but with his last memories of the place, it did nothing to soothe his stress levels.

A spark of _something_ rose up in Connor. CyberLife connected to _him_ , to _his_ mind palace, for him to send reports. _He_ ruled this place now, not Amanda. Why should his own mind reflect his former handler’s ideals? He needn’t fear her return in this time and place... perhaps it was time to change a little...

Without turning around, Connor blinked the rose trellis out of existence. That was a start, he supposed. Next, the palm-like structure and its thorny vines faded away, and the white platform beneath him took on the appearance of a wooden deck. Bushes of vibrant green leaves sprang up at its edges, and low benches appeared.

He turned to the rest of the mind palace simulation and stalled. His mental state had improved with those small alterations, but despite the remaining scenery still being too painfully similar, hecouldn’t think of anything to change it to. There were too many possibilities, too many choices... and not enough time, it seemed, as the alarm he set appeared on his HUD.

After some deliberation, he set his mind palace’s settings to access his subconscious processes via certain parameters. While he was conscious, hopefully the digital haven would reshape itself to match Connor’s state of mind and what would keep him at peace. He could fine tune it next chance he got.

With a satisfied nod, a blue LED, and a stress level below 20%, Connor closed the program and opened his eyes. Today was a big day, and a good mood seemed the right way to start it.

* * *

“This is starting to get ridiculous.”

This was the third time JARVIS had detected an anomalous spike of energy since that first investigation of the warehouse in Queens. It was also the third time Tony had gone out in the suit to investigate only to find almost nothing of note. It was getting _really_ old.

“I have to say that I agree, Sir.” There was a faint undertone of frustration beneath his words, only audible to those that knew him well.

Currently, Iron Man stood in an abandoned backyard in a rundown Brooklyn neighborhood. The energy JARVIS detected had dissipated almost immediately, just like the other occurrences, leaving an assortment of broken glass and plastic bits.

In the Queens warehouse, besides the blue droplets of an unknown substance, there had been a similar mess that Tony had initially taken to be standard litter. At the next two spike locations, there were tables, bigger broken bits of somethings, shattered glass, and more. The only thing of note had been at the third site: what appeared to be a mechanical plastic arm, filled with shorted connections and half-disassembled. There were traces of the blue substance in its components, but again, not enough for more intensive tests.

He’d fiddled with it between projects and despite the state of the arm, its assembly was a work of genius. He couldn’t find any identifying marks yet, but its foreign yet familiar tech was baffling.

This mystery was driving Tony crazy. Everything he and JARVIS found just led to more questions and no answers. He wanted to solve it, but his mind simultaneously loved the challenge and hated the lack of leads. He was about to take another piece of debris for another fruitless set of tests and leave when JARVIS highlighted a part of his HUD.

“Sir, I may have found something of interest.”

Intrigued, Tony walked closer to the area the AI had pointed out. On the muddy ground was a shallow impression of a set of hands pressed into the ground (the left hand partially on a small chunk of plastic) and a set of boot prints leading away. The prints stopped for a moment next to a more vague impression, then two sets of prints walked together and away from the litter. To Tony’s relief, the prints of two of the fingers on the left hand were scannable from residue left on the piece of debris.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this part went on for longer than I thought haha. I underestimated my tendency to drag things out. Connor's powering through for the sake of the "mission" but he's more out of his depth than he wants to acknowledge. He's used to being the only one of his kind, but not like this.  
> Updates are going to be about once a week, probably Wednesdays; college is starting again soon and I have to work out a few issues before I move out. Hopefully this will give me a chance to work up a buffer in case my work piles up, so I don't have to put this on hiatus.  
> Thanks for reading and understanding!


	6. New Kid on the Block

Connor stared at his face in the bathroom mirror.

He wore sneakers, jeans, a button-up, a sweater, and a beanie to cover his LED. His outfit looked the part, but he didn’t feel completely ready. This was his first undercover mission among humans, and damn if he wasn’t going to go all out.

Connor pulled off his beanie and focused on his hair, the only portion of his head that he could really change. He pulled up the configuration settings and played around with the nanotech strands. Depending on the information he sent to the transmitters in his scalp, the woven strands would change style, color, length, and thickness. He went through a few iterations, pulling from Internet images of current hairstyles.

He already had a limited amount of hair nanites, so it took a few tries, but he eventually settled on a look. The hair on the sides of his head became shorter, having moved to the top front instead. His signature little bang lengthened and curled, long enough to be seen past his beanie. He put on the hat, trying it out, and smiled. It was a interesting how such a little detail could make his appearance more youthful.

He walked out to see Hank cradling his mug of coffee. Connor had started the coffee machine and toaster for Hank when he woke up, knowing the combined tone of his alarm and the smell of coffee would help rouse the man. Without a personal connection to his superior, like he had with Fowler, it was safer to go in early. He raised his mug in Connor’s direction as thanks, took a sip, froze, then squinted in the android’s direction. Still tired, he stared for a few moments, obviously trying to figure out what was different. It reminded Connor of a program buffering and the thought made him grin a little.

Finally, Hank hummed in appreciation and turned back to his coffee. “Nice touch.”

“Thank you.”

Connor walked down into the basement to grab what he needed. After a lot of trial and error, he had managed to make a thirium supplement that gave him six months before he would need the real deal. He had time to tweak it and extend that limit, but for now the murky pale blue substance he had created should hold out. He grabbed a container of the liquid and poured some into a tall metal water bottle. Since he needed the supplement much more often than thirium 310, it would be his “lunch” at school. A few harmless additives to mask the strong chemical smell and some prepared excuses would further the illusion.

He swung his backpack up with one arm, using the other to check its contents. Everything he needed was tucked neatly inside, so he shimmied the bottle into a prearranged space and zipped it up. He checked the time on his internal clock and looked through the bus routes as he made his way back up. The bus should be coming around in about five minutes, and he didn’t mind waiting outside for a bit.

Hank had just finished the last dregs of his first cup of coffee and was pouring one for the road. He looked up as Connor headed to the door. “You still going on the bus? I can probably drop you off on my way to work.”

The android looked back. “No need, Hank. The bus is coming soon, and it would give me a chance to survey my peers and begin constructing the best way to blend in.”

Hank shrugged. “If you’re sure. Good luck at school.”

“Thanks for offering. Good luck at the precinct, I’ll see you later today.” Connor waved goodbye and stepped outside, waiting for the bus to arrive.

* * *

 

High school was proving to be... interesting.

Connor had spent the bus ride in silence, simply observing and listening to the conversations around him while making sure all his new algorithms were ready. It was mostly filled with underclassmen excited and apprehensive for their first day, but there were the occasional upperclassmen talking about summer experiences and gossiping. There were a few glances his way, some judging, but mostly he just caught fleeting curiosity on their faces before they turned back to their friends.

By the time he arrived at the Midtown School of Science and Technology, he knew way too much about the sex life of one kid, learned of at least two other people who were casual stoners, and acquired a repertoire of cheesy jokes. He considered sending a tip about the two drug users, but decided against it, remembering Hank’s illegal gambler friend.

Once inside, it was simple to weave his way through the hormonal crowds, deposit his unneeded belongings into his locker, and head to class. Making sure to blend into the background as he gathered information, he observed the many stereotypes he had researched as he went through the day: various popular cliques, both the female and male variety; jocks and nerds, locked in eternal battle, though somewhat downplayed in this gifted environment; snotty rich kids and insatiable gossips. Not everyone fit into the molds society had constructed, obviously, but sometimes it was very obvious.

Classes progressed smoothly. It was only the first day, so teachers mostly explained the syllabus and what was expected of them as students. The only bumps were icebreaker activities, though it was mostly a matter of keeping his responses short and similar to the teens around him. Simple questions like “tell us your name, previous school, and one special thing about yourself” were quick and easy half-truths and lies. Others like “if you could have any superpower, what would it be” were less cut and dry, but received plausible responses. His answer to that one had been time travel, as an inner joke to himself — the question itself also seemed funnily topical, given the Avengers-themed responses around him.

At lunchtime, he analyzed the movement patterns of the various groups of students and sat at the end of a table. It was close enough to the popular groups that he could listen to the background chatter and not ostracize himself while also being far enough away to avoid major notice.He was soon joined by a few others at the table. They first sat at the opposite end, then looked at him and each other. The two boys seemed to come to a nonverbal agreement and scooted closer.

“You’re new here, right? I’ve never seen you before,” one of the boys started. He had dark brown hair, tanned skin, and wore a pair of glasses.

Connor tapped at his metal bottle as he answered, “Yes, I transferred here.”

“What’s your name?” This time the other boy spoke. He was much paler than his companion, with a smattering of freckles on his face, and his lighter brown hair flopped into his eyes.

“My name is Connor Anderson.” After a moment he added, “And you are?”

“Oh, I’m Micah and this is Jay,” the first boy introduced, pointing to himself and his friend. “We’re both sophomores.”

Picking up on the unspoken question for this exchange of information, Connor returned, “I’m a junior.”

Micah’s face brightened and he waved to someone behind Connor. When he turned to look, another boy with curly brown hair was making his way towards their table. The boy smiled and nodded acknowledgement in lieu of waving due to the tray of hot foodstuffs in his arms.

Suddenly, Connor simultaneously became aware of the boy picking up his pace down the aisle between the tables and another student seated at the table across from the android in the process of sticking his foot out.

The intent was clear.

Time slowed.

 **Ignore** \- It would be easier on him to ignore the humiliating event about to unfold in front of him and simply help after it occurred. Getting involved would mean getting noticed and possibly gaining an enemy, not to mention revealing his reflexes. However...

 **Intervene** \- It went against all of his principles to just turn away from this. There were hot foods on the tray that could burn the unlucky student, and he hardly looked balanced enough on his wiry legs to recover.Plus, if he helped this boy, who was clearly friends with Jay and Micah, he could cement a friendship. He would need to play this just right...

As time flowed faster, Connor made a show of glancing at the extending foot and widening his eyes. As the boy’s leg made contact and he started to tip forward, Connor was already on his feet and reaching for him. With a deft movement, Connor grabbed the tray and balanced it with one hand, using his other arm to catch the kid. Connor stood rigid so he wouldn’t be dragged down if he still fell, ignoring the slight twinge in his left side where the duct tape bandage pulled against some of his sensors.

In less than a minute, Connor was the subject of everyone’s attention in the lunch room. He froze for a moment, a statue holding a tray of cafeteria food in one hand and a boy hanging off the other, calculating possible responses to his action. For a split second, Connor could only think of saying “how do you do, fellow kids.” Curse your meme-ucation, Hank.

Knowing staying still would just make it more awkward, he set the tray down next to his bottle and helped the boy stand straight with both hands. Just as he was about to ask if the kid was alright, he heard clapping from behind him, probably either Micah or Jay. Now it was both. Soon enough, a fair number of other students were applauding him, a few whoops scattered about.

Furiously glad that androids didn’t blush as easily as humans, Connor gave a small smile and led the student to his tray.

“Those are some crazy reflexes, Connor!” Jay exclaimed, Micah nodding excitedly beside him.

As he sat down, the boy seemed to get over his shock and said gratefully, “Thanks, man. I think I would’ve combusted on the spot from embarrassment if I’d fallen face first into my tray on the _first day of school_.”

Thankfully, Connor had gotten better at recognizing comedic hyperbole, so he didn’t remark on how that wasn’t physically possible. “You’re welcome. I’m glad to have been able to help. My name is Connor, what’s yours?”

“Evan,” the boy answered, somewhat amused at the android’s speech patterns.

“Essence,” Micah stage-whispered, prompting an eye roll from Evan and a round of giggles from Jay. Connor was a little confused, and it must have shown on his face before he could research. “Oh, dude,” Micah said in mock dismay. “If you’re gonna be hanging out with us,” he looked at his companions, who seemed receptive, “we’re gonna have to educate you in the ways of obscure references and meme material.” Micah waved an arm dramatically, staring off into the far distance.

“It’s our primary source of communication,” Jay shrugged.

 _Well, Hank_ , Connor thought, _I hope you’ll be proud_.

As his new friends started talking about anything and everything, he snuck a glance at the table with the student who had almost tripped Evan. He caught the eye of the boy by chance, and was treated to an unfriendly expression.

He turned back to his table, sipping his thirium supplement. He was the RK800, the most advanced model of android from the year 2038, miles beyond the current technology. He was certain he could handle a little schoolyard rivalry.

Thinking of his home, Connor wondered how Markus and the rest were doing now that both he and Hank were gone. Hopefully he stuck to his promise...

* * *

 

Markus was worried.

Three days ago, a group of newly deviated androids reached New Jericho in a panic. It took the combined efforts of Markus, Simon, Josh, and North to calm them down from the brink of self-destruction. Once the danger had passed and they informed Markus of their situation and Connor and Hank’s involvement, the revolution leader notified Detroit police.

A few officers were sent to New Jericho to question the androids under Josh’s supervision to prevent any relapses, and some others were sent to the given address of the Red Ice dealers to check on the status of the two detectives. Everything had gone smoothly until the officers discovered the explosion-wrecked basement, debris scattered around a machine that was strangely untouched, and that Hank and Connor, as well as their perps, had disappeared.

Connor had once made Markus promise that if he was ever deactivated, he had to take care of Hank and Sumo. Markus, holding a great deal of respect for Connor and the role he played in November, agreed without hesitation. With the human detective also gone, that left Markus with his thirium lines knotted in anxiety and a somber Saint Bernard laying on his lap.

The android was running his hand through Sumo’s fur as he went over reports on reconstruction efforts and population updates. The steady motion and texture felt soothing to his sensors, but his processor continued to drift over to the fates of two of his friends.

“You’re thinking about them again, aren’t you.”

Markus startled and turned to face Simon. He calmed and sighed, “How can you tell?”

The blond PL600 smiled gently and sat down next to Markus. “You make this face when you worry about something too much. Like this.” He scrunched up his face in an exaggerated expression, causing the darker-skinned android to laugh lightly.

Simon joined Markus in petting Sumo, whose tail started dragging across the ground a little faster. He waited patiently for Markus to speak his mind. After a few moments, he vented, “I’m just... they disappeared without a trace! Not a single drop of blood spilled except a spray of thirium on that machine. Their car was abandoned, no obvious signs of escape, but no evidence of their deaths either. It’s... _frustrating_ and... _confusing_.”

“I suppose the RK series was made to want to solve problems, hm?”

Markus huffed. “That would explain things.” His gaze lowered and he made that worried face again. “I can’t stand by and do nothing. Connor’s my friend, and so is Hank.”

“Whatever you decide to do, Markus, we’ll stand by you,” Simon said firmly. “I’m sure Josh or North wouldn’t mind taking on some of the work you insist on piling on yourself. Same with me.”

Markus smiled gratefully at Simon, moving their shoulders to bump together. “Thank you.”

Simon returned the smile with his gaze full of fondness. “My pleasure.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be frank here, I haven't watched any of the TV series featuring the NY MCU police force, so... idk pick a precinct in Manhattan and imagine Hank goes there?? It's going to tie into the story at some point, so I might need a Hank POV at his job, but I have no idea who his coworkers are going to be or if I'm going to include them at all lol.  
> Once again, please point out any mistakes so I can fix them and comments are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!  
> (and yes I did make his hair more like Bryan Dechart's, how could I not)


	7. A Meeting of Minds

Connor had anticipated this outcome. He should have been prepared for it, should have thought harder about what he would do when the time came. He had underestimated its power...

Boredom held Connor fast in its clutches.

It’s not that he wasn’t paying attention to the droning of the history teacher, Mr. Fischer; a portion of his processing power was dedicated to listening, answering questions when called upon, and arranging his face to seem attentive as he took notes.

It was the fact that this was all information he could look up at a moment’s notice and served no practical purpose for his mission, thus requiring no conscious acknowledgement of the lectures beyond the occasional query directed towards his fellow classmates.

Unfortunately, he had already combed the Internet, checked over their identities, and searched police frequencies for word on whether they were alone in this timeline or not multiple times. At least in math he could focus on the certain steps for each equation the teacher required instead of simply computing the answer, or in science he could surreptitiously search for chemicals that might be useful for his supplement during lab.

He had already sent in his application for the Stark Internship for the rolling admissions period but he wouldn’t get a confirmation or denial until the very end of September. The application had been _almost_ flawless - designed that way of course - and Hank had looked over his work for any red flags using that special human _je ne sais quoi_ that knows when something is off. He also added hobbies and other details that would make him “well-rounded.” He was almost completely sure that he would be accepted into the practical portion of the application process; his whole mission hinged on it.

Perhaps he could... check on its progress? See whether it had been looked at already and if he had been accepted or not? It would certainly ease the small pit of anxiety that told him he wasn’t good enough in a voice that sounded suspiciously familiar.

He had avoided Avengers Tower thus far because it was the home of the most advanced technology of this era. He doubted even Stark’s tech could sniff him out if he hovered against its edges and looked into less important data, but he hadn’t been willing to try yet. Connor supposed that now was as good a time as any to test his limits.

He came back to himself for a moment and glanced around the room. Jay was the only one of his trio of friends in this class, and he could see his head nodding in what could either be affirmation or sleep where the boy sat in front and across from him. Most everyone else was in a similar boat, and a few had recording apps open and doing other work.

Connor ramped up his processing speed a little and put the bare minimum of his attention on maintaining his cover. He set a notification for five minutes before class ended, giving him twenty minutes to retrieve the information.

A thrill went through him - finally, a task worthy of the RK800.

He swept along information lines and networks until he arrived at the edge of the Avengers Tower systems. He had to admit, its firewalls were elegantly crafted and he observed some impressive malware and spyware detection systems among others, but his superior processor was able to find a weak spot to burrow through and conceal easily enough.

Once inside, he made sure not to trip any sensors as he carefully made his way towards his goal. He ignored everything else, especially the more secure files that likely housed company secrets or digital blueprints; espionage of that sort was neither his specialty nor his aim.

After a few minutes of avoiding detection and weaving through the network, he found what he was looking for.

There were a lot of applicants, though that was to be expected for such a prestigious internship. Luckily, they were sorted alphabetically and by application date, so it didn’t take very long to find his own submission under _Anderson, Connor_. Copying the whole file would definitely ring some alarm bells, so he settled on opening it and reading.

It had already gone through inspection, he found. His application was littered with annotations from two sources. Connor was sure that one belonged to Stark himself, which surprised the android slightly. The other was unknown, possibly the one in charge of the preliminary rejections if he got the process right, but its digital signature was incredibly precise...

Just as Connor was about to read the rest of the annotations and see whether his application had gone through a decision or not, the feeling of a searchlight being focused on him erupted across his senses.

 _State your identity and intentions_.

Conor froze. How had he been found?! He had been exceedingly careful at every turn, he knew for a _fact_ that he hadn’t tripped over any sensors!

 _State your identity and intentions_ , the voice - and yes, it was a voice. Although both presences were fully immersed in cyberspace, Connor could feel a little bit of data that gave the text the feeling of a polished British accent - repeated, _or I will have to forcefully remove you from this system_.

Stark’s security system was much more sophisticated than Connor had anticipated. He couldn’t risk responding, not when communication could reveal something that might lead Stark to Hank and himself. The only thing he could do was try to quickly get some information from this being and escape.

Connor had only a few milliseconds to send out a feeler before the voice lost patience with his silence. He had just enough time to reel in shock as he recognized a learning AI and begin his retreat before he was hit with the digital equivalent of a military grade taser.

He blacked out.

 

 

 

 **[ INITIALIZING SYSTEM RESTART ]  
** **[ ID : CONNOR ]**

 **[ ANALYZING SYSTEMS ... ]**  
**[ NO INTERNAL DAMAGE DETECTED ]  
** **[ NO EXTERNAL DAMAGE DETECTED ]**

**[ THIRIUM LEVELS : 61% ]**

**[ MEMORY CORE STATUS : 3% CORRUPTION : DEFRAG CYCLE RECOMMENDED ]**

**[ INITIALIZING STARTUP SEQUENCE ... ]**

Connor came back to his body with a groan. His audio feed popped back online to hear frantic voices, most notably Jay and the history teacher. As his external sensors transmitted faster, he became aware of his position on the floor and a lump of cloth beneath his head.

The android sat up quickly, prompting some yelps from around him, and looked around. Worried and interested faces surrounded him. He felt for his beanie, relieved to find that it was still snug around his LED, and tugged it further down. He made absolutely sure that his vocalizer was clear of static before speaking. “What... happened?”

“You had a seizure, Connor,” Mr. Fischer answered worriedly.

“You just started jerking in your chair and fell to the ground!” Jay took over, his voice cracking slightly. “Your heart was still beating but we couldn’t wake you up! Are... are you okay...?”

Connor nodded slowly, flexing a slight tingling out of his fingers. While there was no actual electricity involved in what should have been a simply well-coordinated counter hack, it had manifested as a physical sensation as it passed from one AI to another. The deviant ability to translate certain stimuli as feelings and the lack of preparation from Connor’s end exaggerated the effect and must have made him go into temporary shutdown. Thank god Elijah Kamski designed the thirium pump to mimic the human heart.

“I’m... fine,” Connor said, pushing his legs under him.

Mr. Fischer made an aborted movement towards him. “Are you sure you’re well enough to get up? We’ve already called the nurse, wait until she gets here!”

“I’m fine,” Connor said more firmly, but at that point the school nurse burst through the door and zeroed in on him.

It was already nearly the end of the day, so Connor spent his last block in the nurse’s office. She was kind but stern, and made sure to document the event for his school health record. It was on paper too, so he couldn’t really do anything about it.

When school ended, he found Micah, Jay, and Evan waiting outside for him. They all seemed relieved when he waved at them and walked over. “Are you feeling better, dude?” Micah asked gently.

Connor nodded. “It was a momentary lapse, not a regular condition. I will make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

The boys nodded at that explanation. At first, Connor was afraid that his matter-of-fact way of speaking would alienate him from them; it was much harder than he realized to incorporate more casual speech when there were so many different high school “dialects” and a thin line between plausible mimicry and flat-out copying. After the first day, it would be strange to change his speech patterns so completely, so he was glad that they took it in stride as one of his quirks.

Other students still looked at him a little funny, but he could deal with that.

“I don’t know how you’re so calm about it. It was kind of scary, and it wasn’t even happening to me,” Jay said quietly as they started walking out of school grounds.

Evan continued, “Do you know what caused it? Since you don’t have epilepsy or whatever?”

Obviously the truth was out of the question. “I feel fine now, so it might have been a lack of certain vitamins and minerals.” That _was_ one of the causes of tonic-clonic seizures, which was similar enough to his experience.

“Guess you’re gonna have to change up your mystery diet, _Mister Anderson_ ,” Micah replied, falling into a faux-serious voice and expression at the end, tipping his glasses.

“I suppose so, Agent Smith,” Connor responded with a grin, partly at the more lighthearted banter and partly at the irony of the switched roles between human and machine.

They separated from each other after a few more minutes. Connor waved goodbye and then began walking to the nearby Delmar’s Deli-Grocery. While Hank had not managed to find a substitute for Gary Kayes’ burgers, he took a liking to Delmar’s sandwiches. Connor would occasionally stop by to get one for the man.

As he entered, a boy had just finished ordering. The kid and Mr. Delmar exchanged some pleasantries while the sandwich was being made and Connor waited patiently behind him. After the boy paid, he said goodbye to Mr. Delmar and sent a wave and smile at Connor, who replied in kind before stepping up and asking for a number four.

* * *

 

When Connor arrived back at the house, Hank was there to meet him. A surprise, given that Hank usually came back a few hours after Connor walked home. He grinned and held up a bag. “Got your Number Four,” he said brightly.

Hank didn’t answer. He let the android set down his things and then started checking him over.

“I got a call from the school saying you had a seizure,” he said gruffly, trying to mask his worry and failing. “What happened?”

Oh, right. Connor grimaced at the memory. That didn’t do anything to reassure Hank, though, so he quickly responded. “I’m okay now. I tried going through the Avengers Tower systems to check on my application, maybe do some information gathering. The security system... kicked me out. Forcefully.”

Hank frowned. “How does that lead to you having a _seizure_?”

Connor pulled off his beanie and ran a hand through his hair with a strained laugh. The light on his temple circled yellow a few times. “Turns out, his security system is an AI! And not a rudimentary one as I’d thought from the rumors and sources I read through. I was very careful, but I wasn’t prepared for another intelligence to sense my presence on its own. Through our interaction, it managed to scramble my systems enough to force me into temporary shutdown. It looked like a seizure to the human eye.”

He processed that information. Connor continued, “I’ll be more prepared next time. Luckily, I had some algorithms in place to hide my true nature, so it should have just—”

Hank cut him off. “Why did you do it during school hours, anyway?” His eyes were narrowed in suspicion, with one eyebrow quirked up.

Connor had hoped he wouldn’t come back to that detail, but his rambling hadn’t distracted the seasoned detective, it seemed. He ducked his head unintentionally as a bit more thirium rushed to his face. It wasn’t enough to show through his skin, but enough to mimic the heat of embarrassment. Lying wouldn’t help; he wasn’t very good at it when it was directed at Hank. “I got... bored,” he said quietly.

Damn, he could already see the smile sneaking onto the man’s face. “Repeat that, will ya?” Yep, there was definitely humor in his words.

Connor sighed. “I got bored.”

“Hah!” He clapped a hand on Connor’s shoulder, steering him towards the kitchen table. “I wondered how long it would take!” Connor stared at him incredulously, so he went on, “Listen, I’ve worked with you for a while, so I know you. You’ve always worked yourself so hard, you don’t know how to slow down! I trust that you’ve done everything you can to keep us safe, but you don’t have to fill your every waking hour with doing something. Live a little. You’re never gonna have a chance to go to high school again or a get fresh start like this, so slow down and enjoy it.” Hank shrugged as he finished his little speech. He opened the sandwich bag and started eating.

Connor sighed internally. Hank had a point; he was still treating this as a mission with hard evidence and a timeline with only the end goal in sight. He was just so used to high stakes and deadlines that these long dull periods were getting to him. _Slow down_... maybe that might help, even if Hank hadn’t meant it literally. Connor made a note to himself to slow down his processing speeds to just above human-comparable levels for his classes. Maybe that would help him focus on what he _was_ doing as opposed to what he _could_ be doing.

“Thanks for the sandwich, by the way,” Hank said through a mouthful of bread.

“No problem, Hank. Thanks for the advice.”

* * *

 

“Sir?” JARVIS called into the workshop.

“What is it, J?” Tony replied distractedly from his workbench, where he was manipulating a few holograms related to his latest Iron Man suit.

“There has been a slight security breach.” That got his full attention. Before Tony could start asking rapid-fire questions, JARVIS continued, “It has been resolved, and no sensitive information was endangered or accessed.”

Tony settled down and felt a small surge of pride. It was nice when your kids knew how to take initiative. “You wouldn’t tell me if it was just one of those routine amateur hackers.” Never mind that “amateur” was relative. “What stuck out?”

At that, JARVIS pulled up a file on Tony’s workbench. He snapped his fingers, “Hey, I recognize this kid.” The hologram depicted a teen with curly brown hair and a serious expression next to his application to the New York Stark Internship. “Very smart, likes computers, moved here recently. Go on.”

The AI obliged, “Earlier today, I repelled a hacker. They were skilled and managed to get past the Tower defenses with little trouble. However, they only accessed the internship applications, regardless of the fact that if I had not focused my attention in that area at that time they would have had access to many other secure systems. I could not glean much more information from their attempt other than what they were searching for.”

There was a brief moment of silence as Tony analyzed the situation. There was only one obvious answer.

“Huh. Bump the kid up in the priority queue. I want to meet him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the bit of a late update! Ran into some electronic issues that I had to sort out first. 
> 
> For those who aren't familiar with the term, "je ne sais quoi" is French for "I don't know what" and is basically a fancier way of describing a quality that you can't quite put your finger on. I use it frequently enough that it slipped in.
> 
> Like always, let me know if I've made any errors or have any suggestions and thanks for reading!


	8. Contemplation

The next day, Connor got an email informing him that his application to the New York Stark Internship had been processed and accepted. It gave him the date and time for his face-to-face interview at Avengers Tower: Friday, September 19th at 4:00 pm. If… no, _when_ he passed it, he would then have a practical assessment in a lab, the content of which would not be revealed to him until then.

Connor wasn’t sure what to think. On one hand, he was glad to know that his application had been a success and that the mission was going smoothly; that had been the goal of his reconnaissance in the first place. On the other… the timing did not appear to be coincidental. It was practically a given that his hacking attempt had caught the eye of Tony Stark through his curiously British AI. The only variable was how Stark viewed the hack and how it was traceable to him.

The interview was in a few days, though, so he had time to prepare.

While he started running scenarios in the background, Connor opened his eyes to digitally rendered greenery. The Zen Garden was slowly changing, he was pleased to note.

The sky was a clear blue, with only a few clouds drifting by. Artificial birds still flew about, and chirping sound bites occasionally played. The water was filled with colorful fish that caught the light when they swam close to the surface. Daffodils and delphinium sprang from the ground in random patterns, making the land look less landscaped and adding splashes of yellow, blue, and white. The cherry blossom trees had changed into maples, and oaks took the place of the remaining plastic palms. There was more shade now from their wide canopies, and the colors seemed richer somehow.

The central platform had kept its wooden deck appearance from his last visit, and a medium-sized gazebo now took the place of the palm-like structure that used to rise from its center. The little shelter gave a nice view of the surroundings from its benches, and Connor could clearly see the backdoor program from where he sat. It seemed slightly closer and glowed a little brighter, as if to reassure him of its presence.

Connor sighed happily, feeling more at ease here than he ever had before. With Amanda disconnected and CyberLife’s influence gone, the Zen Garden truly felt like a palace that his mind could retreat to, rather than a meeting place to give reports to his handler.

He reviewed the simulations he had run as he inspected the Garden from where he sat in the gazebo, his head resting against one of its wooden supports. To his dissatisfaction, he simply didn’t know enough about the situation to come up with reasonable interactions. He could prepare for standard interview questions, but Stark was known for being eccentric; Connor was almost sure that he would be unable to prepare everything he needed to say and do in advance. Not to mention he didn’t even know who his interviewer would be. The email hadn’t explained much and Connor was hesitant to delve into the Stark Tower networks again so soon. It wasn’t because he doubted his own abilities, not really, but because of the added variable of Stark’s AI.

During Connor’s research, he had come across mentions of Tony Stark’s personally programmed intelligent assistant, but nothing very detailed. It was mostly from women — and occasionally men — who had woken up after a one-night stand to an accented voice rattling off the date, time, and weather, and occasionally answering queries. A few employees noted something similar who redirected calls or answered them for Stark sometimes, and a few magazines and newspapers had mentioned that Stark had programmed and built a few robots. There had been nothing to suggest that this artificial construct was anything more than a glorified Siri.  

Through the quick probe he had sent out, Connor knew that such a description was an overwhelming understatement and would be a serious insult to the being he had met. From what he gathered, the AI was much older than he was and had the experience to show for it, especially in its brutal method — likely not entirely intended to be so, but masterful nonetheless — of ejecting Connor from the systems it presided over. It was hard to tell if it approached the level of sentience that Connor and other androids, deviant or not, possessed, but the learning algorithms he had observed certainly seemed to point in that direction.

Connor had already modified his digital presence to be invisible to it, so it shouldn’t give him any trouble in the future, but the android couldn’t help but be fascinated by the possibility of another nonbiological entity like himself existing in this time period. It should be impossible in this year’s technology, but Stark Industries had made a name for itself by walking the cutting edge. He would need to be all the more careful to avoid detection, but if Stark could be trusted, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get the being’s name and have a few conversations.

But before that could happen, he needed to ace the interview. Without enough concrete data, there wasn’t too much he could do to prepare. The least he could do was go over his identity again, flesh out the “hobbies” he had listed on his application, and create a cover story for his hacking attempt that wouldn’t reveal himself as an android from the future.

Beyond that, he would just have to wing it.

* * *

 

Hank came home to see Connor sitting on the couch, leaning against the armrest with his legs tucked in. He looked very much like a napping teenager, though with a little more poise than a normal teen’s sprawl.

Hank walked over and checked his LED. It cycled yellow, occasionally speeding up or slowing down. _Must be in that mind garden thing then_ , Hank mused.

Once they had started living together in Detroit, Hank had made Connor tell him what all his LED colors meant and a few of his other tics. Hank explained his interest as simple curiosity, but after the business at CyberLife Tower, he wanted to be able to tell if something was ever wrong with the android he had come to love as his son.

{

“The LED is an external feedback biocomponent,” Connor explained. “It is connected to some of the processors in the head by thin wires and filaments and provides visual information on the state of an android’s mental processing or physical state. Blue is stable, yellow is increased strain, and red is critical effort or distress. For those deviants who keep the LED,” he motioned to his temple where blue light shone, “the colors are also affected by emotional state in a similar fashion.”

Hank waved a hand. “Yeah, that much is obvious. But what about you personally? I know your LED doesn’t work the same way as all the other androids.”

Connor nodded. “Very observant, Lieutenant.” At this point in time, just a few weeks after the events of November, he hadn’t yet gotten used to calling Hank by his first name on a regular basis. “For one, I can choose whether to display my mental state. It’s useful in interrogations, where deception may be necessary,” he added at Hank’s inquisitive look.

“I also have a higher… pain tolerance, I suppose. I can take more physical damage before it becomes a problem that my LED must display. Lastly, when I enter a defragmentation cycle, I will appear to mimic sleep and my LED will turn blue, just like some other android models. However, if I enter my mind palace, the Zen Garden where I would make reports to Am- ...to CyberLife, my LED will be yellow.”

Apprehension creased Connor’s face. Hank gave him a questioning glance, but he didn’t elaborate further.

}

Hank hadn’t pressed Connor very hard at the time about the stuttering and his clear discomfort, not when his LED had unconsciously blinked yellow, almost red, at the near mention. He only learned later that he had meant to say Amanda, his handler, and that she hadn’t been very kind towards the end of the revolution. He knew there was more to it, and judging by his demeanor it wasn’t good, but he didn’t want to stir any past trauma. Hank would have to find out eventually, but he was willing to give Connor time to come to him on his own.

If there was anything good to come out of this whole skipping dimensions thing, it was how the android seemed calmer now, more carefree. He didn’t have the threat of that woman hanging over his head, and though the digital isolation he had told Hank about wasn’t a joke, it seemed that making friends at school had lessened the effect.

Hank smiled at the peaceful expression on the “sleeping” android’s face. He pulled a blanket over his still form and then quietly went about the house, regardless of the fact that he knew Connor couldn’t hear him.

From what Hank had observed, he would probably be in that state for an hour or two at most. He had time to whip something up for dinner. The chicken had been in the fridge for a while now…

When the kid woke up, he would tell him what he overheard at the police station.

* * *

 

“...”

“...”

“If you’re gonna stand here all day, at least do it away from the merchandise.”

“...I don’t like this.”

“Yes, you’ve made that _abundantly_ clear.”

“It’s getting too popular. Eventually, the police are gonna find out about it and because you _couldn’t keep your yap shut_ —”

“I get it, I wasn’t thinking! It just slipped out—”

“You should have been more careful! What if they made it—”

“We don’t even know if they got vaporized in the blast or not! I know you didn’t want to kill anybody, but for all we know, they’re a splatter on a Detroit basement floor.”

“...that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be cautious. They’re here unless we prove they’re not. We can’t afford to be careless. I recognized that detective’s face, he’ll notice Ice right away, unstable or not.”

“We need the cash, alright, and this was the quickest way under the radar. These guys’ll protect us as long as I keep churning out Ice and you keep maintaining those guns they got from Toomes.”

“This isn’t our time, or your people. This symbiotic relationship is beneficial to them now, but if they ever get the formula for Ice or figure out why I took such an interest in that tech, you know they’ll cut us off in a heartbeat.”

“...yeah. I know.”

“...”

“...”

“We both remember the endgame. I have a few contingency plans. Just don’t get yourself killed, alright kid?”

“Ha! Right back atcha, old man.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> Sorry for missing last week's update, I was moving into my dorm and getting ready for the start of the term. I'm going to try to keep to my Wednesday update schedule, but I may have to skip weeks occasionally as the workload gets heavier. I won't abandon this story, promise!  
> Like always, let me know if I've made any mistakes and what you think!  
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Interview Prep

The day of the interview, Connor was hardly able to focus on anything else. It was such an integral part of his mission that everything else, especially school classes, seemed inconsequential in comparison. He firmly denied himself the option to infiltrate Avengers Tower again and no new information was forthcoming unless he asked, which could be taken as a sign of impatience or desperation. Neither of those traits were beneficial.

He had slowed down his processing speed to just above human levels so he wouldn’t drive himself crazy or overheat running scenarios, but his thought processes were still continually returning to the issue. To make matters worse, all of his remaining concentration was solely on what Hank had told him last night.

A new drug had hit the streets, going by the simple name of Ice. At first, the police had thought the name referred to the colloquialism for methamphetamine, but after acquiring a sample, it was determined to be a different substance entirely. Given Hank had only overheard this information in passing, he wasn’t privy to all the details. Luckily, he was living with an android who had no trouble hacking into police records and retrieving the current case files without leaving a trace.

Confirming Hank’s suspicion, Ice was remarkably similar to Red Ice. It consisted of the same lithium, acetone, toluene, and hydrochloric acid components, but in different ratios to work with a few new additives, likely a replacement for thirium. It lacked the distinctive crimson color of Red Ice, instead having several “varieties” with purple, orange, or pink coloring depending on the balance of ingredients. The differences were extremely minute, however, which might stem from an unstable recipe. The symptoms were also similar: irrational thinking, agitation, mood swings, a quick high that left the user desperate for more… and with this new iteration, there were hot flashes, short but intense hallucinations, and other rarer but no less dangerous effects.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that a drug so similar to Red Ice would show up in this world, in this city, a month or so after they arrived. It had to mean that Jonathan Miller and his accomplice had also been transported to this time and were now, presumably, looking to make a profit in a new market. The knowledge they have of the future could be exceedingly dangerous in their hands. If they could be apprehended, Hank and Connor could find a way to get them all back to 2038, leaving his Stark mission useless.

Only it would be much safer if Stark were involved in the process, and given his superhero status he probably wouldn’t have a hard time handling criminals, so that led back to the internship—

“Hey!”

Connor jerked back to reality, just as a human would when abruptly broken out of a daydream. His concentration must have slipped a lot if he hadn’t noticed Micah waving a hand in front of his face. The sound of metal on plastic brought his attention to his calibration coin, spiraling into rest on the cafeteria tabletop.

“Wow, you really got into the zone there, huh?” Micah commented.

“Connor, that was completely amazing! How the heck do you even do that?” Jay exclaimed, Evan nodding along excitedly.

 _Huh_ , Connor thought. He must have started his recalibration routine unconsciously, associated with his pre-mission mentality. It seemed deviants could pick up habits and tics for certain situations or feelings just like humans. He might have to curb that habit a bit if the looks of wide-eyed wonder on his companions’ faces and related whispering from surrounding tables were any indication. 

“It’s… a nervous tic. I have an interview later for an internship and I’m somewhat anxious about it.” The others seemed to accept his explanation with understanding nods. At least this time his explanation was somewhat true.

“Oh, yeah, anxiety… we’ve all been there, here. But- but I’m sure you’ll do great! You’re, like, the smartest guy I know.” Evan said.

“Maybe if you teach us some coin tricks, that’ll take your mind off of it?” Jay offered.

Connor nodded amicably. The more allocation of power to his interactions, the less available for overthinking. Some of his recalibration routine was impossible for humans, but there were a few tricks he could teach.

Basics first. He started flicking the quarter a short distance into the air with his thumb and catching it in the same hand. He started running calibrations as he did so. “First, you have to be able to—”

He felt the disturbance in the air rather than see another student grab the coin out of the air before it could land in his hand.

Connor look up and observed the teen who currently held his coin between two fingers. School records told him that this was Timothy Sharp, one of the other boys in the junior year. Standing at six feet and six inches, he was one of the best players in the school’s basketball team with an avid female following for his good looks, according to his social media.

“Hey guys,” Timothy called over his shoulder, turning away from Connor and towards a group of snickering boys. “I found a quarter! Twenty-five cents richer outta nowhere.”

As Tim started to walk away, Connor found himself grimacing in restrained anger. The coin really shouldn’t have mattered that much, even the date on it wouldn’t have been suspicious in this time, but it was one of the few things he had left from his own time and he wasn’t about to let it slip away.

He raised his voice over the lunchroom chatter. “Excuse me, that’s _my_ coin.”

Timothy gave a brief pause, smirked, and sat down at the table. “You guys hear something?” the boy said loudly. “Must be a draft in here or somethin’.” His friends laughed a little more as the tall boy started inexpertly flipping the coin in his hand.

Conner was aware of the warning looks he was receiving from Micah, Jay, and Evan, but he wouldn’t be deterred. He’d spent enough time around Detective Reed to develop a distaste for bullies, and this time he was on an equal playing field to all observers. He stood up from the table, making his way to the other one with deliberate strides that spoke of confidence and drew the gazes of other students. By the time he reached it, nearly the whole lunchroom was watching with rapt attention.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I believe you’ve stolen something that doesn’t belong to you,” Connor said flatly. Some members of the table seemed confused, likely unused to a victim following up, but others just eyed him with quirked eyebrows and entertained grins.

To his credit, Timothy didn’t back down. He hummed and held the coin between his fingers, inspecting it from all angles. He shrugged eventually. “I don’t see your name on it, I think finders keepers applies.”

It was clear that the other boy was attempting to provoke Connor, either into backing down or escalating the encounter. The android certainly wasn’t backing down, not to a schoolyard bully, but neither did he want to escalate to anything physical. At the very least, it wasn’t going to be _him_ that initiated it.

From the corner of his vision, he noticed that Tim had begun tossing the coin back and forth between his hands, his challenging expression baiting Connor. Being an athlete had likely honed the boy’s reflexes, but not enough to beat an android. It would be a matter of timing it just right and being prepared for any retaliation. Connor sped up his processing speed to normal levels and prepared his defensive combat protocols just in case.

Without glancing down, he snatched the quarter out of the air between Timothy’s hands as it passed from one to the other and turned sharply on his heel, striding back to the table where his friends were watching with wide eyes. He kept many of his sensors focused behind him, and was therefore prepared when he heard a table scraping and a mumbled curse behind him. He dodged to the side when a hand shot out to grab him and continued on, not even turning around.

Connor saw an approaching figure in front of him, and this time allowed Tim to grab him by his sweater and spin him around. The other boy’s face was beginning to darken with anger, and one hand had balled into a fist. The fist had raised just enough for the intent to be clear before it halted and the color drained from his face as one of the disciplinarians cleared her throat from behind Connor.

Timothy immediately let go of the shorter boy and opened his mouth to make some excuse, but the disciplinarian beat him to it. “Enough, Mr. Sharp. You were making enough of a ruckus that I could hear everything from the other side of the cafeteria. I’d like to see you in my office now. Pack your things.”

Connor gave a curt nod of acknowledgement to the disciplinarian after telling her his side of the incident, then made his way over to his lunch table. He fixed his sweater and sat down, tilting his head at the expressions of disbelief on his friends’ faces.

“How are you so good at _everything_ ,” Evan said flatly.

* * *

 

Connor decided to walk to Avengers Tower. It wasn’t too far with his quick stride, and it gave him a chance to go over all of his necessary precautions.

Stark Industries was known for running the cutting edge of the latest technologies, and from what Connor could get off of the Avengers Tower website and skirting the edge of its networks, the Tower’s security measures were nothing to sneeze at. There were several types of scanners in the lobby alone, and the number of obstacles only increased from there.

Connor hadn’t quite curbed his habit of sending out pings yet, so he decided to just turn off his transmitters and receivers. It was a discomforting feeling, shutting off one of his many senses like that, but it also helped lessen his electronic presence. His plastic skin and lack of noticeable metal in his innards would get him past the metal detectors. A little device he had made to throw off scans with the correct human equivalent would fool other measures. It hadn’t really been tested yet, but it was the best he could do.

The temperature scanners were the most worrying, however. Androids tended to run just hot enough in certain places that it was noticeable as non-human to certain scanners. Without the ability or tools to modify himself more extensively, he would just have to run his cooling systems as hard as he could without being audible, keep any unnecessary parts as idle as possible, and hope the fever excuse would work.

Soon enough, with about half an hour to spare, Connor found himself standing at the base of Avengers Tower. The building was certainly an imposing yet beautiful sight, with its multitude of glass panels, artful architectural curves, and the gleaming letter A at its top by a circular landing pad. Definitely an improvement after the devastation wrought to Stark Tower following the Chitauri invasion. Connor quickly checked his precautions yet again as he analyzed the layout, looking the part of an awed teenager, before making his way inside.

He made his way over to the information desk, where an attendant asked his name and confirmed his appointment. With a smile, she guided him over to a security checkpoint. To Connor’s relief, the metal detector didn’t go off and no other alarms were raised. After he passed through, the attendant gave him a name badge and directed him to one of the elevators, saying it would take him to the right floor.

The doors to the empty elevator opened when he approached, to his slight surprise, and the button to the correct floor had already lit up. Connor hummed in curiosity, wondering if it had been the work of a human tech team or the AI that he’d brushed against. He fingered the coin in his pocket, intending to do a quick recalibration, when he noticed a camera in one of the ceiling corners.

Memories sprang to the forefront of the android’s mind. A white elevator with armored guards to dispatch and a security camera he had almost neglected to hack into. Feeling dread and anticipation, such new full-bodied emotions, at the mission he was to accomplish. Expecting guns pointed at his head, ready to paint the walls blue with his blood, when the doors opened—

“Are you alright, Mr. Anderson?”

The accented voice broke Connor out of his recollections with a start. He had backed himself against one of the walls as if expecting attack from the doors. He relaxed his artificial muscles and lifted his eyes to the camera, which he noticed had shifted slightly to put him in better view. Another jolt ran through Connor as he connected the voice to the impression he had gotten from his infiltration.

“...yes, I’m fine,” Connor said, straightening his sweater and pulling his beanie a little further down his head to hide the yellow light. Putting those recalled memory files away, he glanced curiously at the camera. “What is your name, if I may ask?”

“Just A Rather Very Intelligent System,” the voice replied promptly. “JARVIS, for short.” Before Connor could ask anything else, the elevator doors opened and JARVIS said, “Go to the end of this hall and the last door on the right will be your interview room, Mr. Anderson.”

With no other comments forthcoming, Connor simply nodded and walked in the specified direction. He decided that he would have to get to know this JARVIS better, if it was truly the AI he had encountered in cyberspace. Its responses seemed clipped and mechanical, but Connor suspected it to be a front.

The door at the end of the hall was unassuming. Connor paused in front of it to make sure his appearance was neat and his application was in mind. He gave the barest thought to who would be interviewing him before politely knocking on the door.

The door opened and Connor found himself face-to-face with Anthony Edward Stark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! First off, I’d like to apologize for the long hiatus! This semester hit me a lot harder than I expected and this story sort of fell to the wayside to make room for other obligations. That said, now with the winter break coming up, I should be able to focus on advancing this story a bit more and working on my time management.  
> Thank you all for your lovely comments! Seeing them pop up in my inbox helped me remember this story. This story will see its conclusion, one way or another, but I can’t guarantee a consistent update schedule. Thank you for your patience.  
> Lastly, a few story-related notes. I searched high and low for an answer to whether androids ran hotter or colder than humans, so I went with this interpretation. If anyone has any sources otherwise, let me know! Also, since the game uses temperature scanners instead of metal detectors to distinguish androids, I assumed androids didn’t set those off.


End file.
